Song Syndrome
by Two-Bits
Summary: roaring thunder sounded, followed by white lightning. It lit up the entire room for an instance. But it was just long enough.
1. Blackout Tonight

Okay, here's the deal. This thing is named for the fact that each chapter is inspired and named after a song. Get it? Got it? Good.

* * *

Racetrack

It was nearly eleven o'clock when we made our way home. Saturday was usually a good day for selling, but what with the death of President William McKinley, headlines had been incredible for the past week.

But this morning was his actual death, and, I suppose he was a good president, but, really, my life depends on good headlines, and I say, better him than me.

So, this evening, Jack had taken us all out to Irving Hall to watch Medda's performance. And now, along with Spot Conlon and Davvy Jacobs (who was back in school, but still hung out with the us newsboys), we were walking back to the lodging house.

But the house was dark. We couldn't see a thing.

"There's no light!" Snipeshooter exclaimed. I rolled my eyes in the darkness.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Shut up, Racetrack!" Snipeshooter snapped.

"_Ow!_ Snipes, that was _me!_"

"Sorry, Snoddy."

"Shut up, all of you!" Jack yelled. There was silence.

"Guys, somebody find a candle, or something!" Davvy, the voice of reason, said.

"I found one!" Tumbler shrieked, excitedly.

"Good job, Tumbler. Race? Do you have a match?"

"Yeah. Lemme find Tumbler..." I weaved my way through the other newsies, my hands held out in search of Tumbler, who had shot up a bit. My hands rested on someone. "Who's that?"

"It's me," Spot drawled, oddly calm at the prospect of being touched by alien hands. I jerked back, my hands warm, and my stomach twisting. I was blushing, furiously. Thank God it was dark.

"Sorry," I muttered, moving past him, I found Tumbler. I lit the match, but a gust a wind blew it out. "Damn."

But just as I was lighting another, a roaring thunder sounded, followed by white lightning. It lit up the entire room for an instance. But it was just long enough.

"Dear God..."

Ha HAH! Cliffhanger...What on earth could it be? Why is Race getting tingly feelings at the prospect of touching Spot? Why didn't Spot snap at him?

Slightley: Oooh...pertinent questions...O.o

Are you mocking me?

Slightly: Yes.

Shut up. Read and review!


	2. Die On A Rope

Snipeshooter

It was chaotic.

I'd never fully understood the meaning of 'chaos' until now, even though Specs used it a lot in the mornings.

When the first streak of lightning lit up the room, all that followed was silence, and a whispered prayer. Seconds later, everyone started screaming all at once. We scrambled and fought to get out of the lodging house, and when we burst out onto the street, we were immediately soaked with rain, still "shouting up a storm," as Kloppman would say.

Kloppman…

He was the very reason of our terror.

There, hanging in the entryroom of the lodging house, was Kloppman's limp, lifeless body.

EXTREMELY short chapter AND a cliffhanger. What is the world coming to?

Shoutouts!

HAZZAGRIFF: Thanks! Sorry about the wait.

koodles4you: Super cool...That's so fun to say really fast. Haha! Oh yeah, uh, I'm pretty sure it was you who doesn't like slash? Anyways, if not, then read on, but for warning, it will be slashy. What can I say? I'm addicted.

EreshkigalGirl: Yeah, well, I do have a life to keep up with, so I can't make any promises.

Erin Go Bragh: Thanks! I'm sorry, but I tend to forget to update (like you hadn't noticed). I'll fix that as soon as my life gets not-so-crazy.

newsiesfreak2519: Thanks! I never stop writing, hon, but the problem is that I start writing, then come upwith another idea and start writing a whole different story! It's an endless circle until I finally decide to pick up an old story and finish it.


	3. Chapter 3

Shoutouts!

haikora: Aha. The Distillers are so inspiring!

Nosilla: Indeed.

ducks-go-quack-00: Aww! My bad! -huggles-

koodles4you: Aha. Don't you wish. -sob- I'm touched!

HAZZAGRIFF: Aha. 'Cause your reviews are always so wordy.

* * *

Spot 

"EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!" I shouted. Immediately, the newsies fell silent, and I snapped "Everybody outside!" The newsies rushed to get out of the lodging house and crowded into the empty street, immediately doused by rain. "Swifty, go get the cops!" Swifty, the fastest runner (hence the name), dashed off immediately.

I glanced around at the terrified newsies, my gaze falling last on Racetrack. His face was a greenish tint, and he looked shocked. We all were, but Race looked worse than any of the others. Of all of us, he was probably closest to Kloppman; Kloppman had gotten him out of more than one bind.

Without warning, Racetrack's knees buckled, and he fell forward. I leapt forward and caught him in my arms before he hit the ground. Gently, I coaxed his body onto the ground, cradling his head.

"He's fainted," Specs said, knowingly. I glanced down at Racetrack, wiping rain from his face. and shielded his face from the rain by leaning over him. Swifty appeared ten minutes later with the bulls.

"Where'd the body," the first officer asked, gruffly, his red mustache twitching as he talked. Simultaneously, the newsies turned toward the Lodging House. The cop entered the Lodging House and we waited. Three minutes later, the cop returned with a grim expression. He began muttering to the two other officers, then turned to us.

"We suspect..."


End file.
